


The Heartbreak Hotline

by anyothergirl415



Series: Hotline Verse [1]
Category: CW Network RPF, Smallville RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-26 23:29:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/289070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anyothergirl415/pseuds/anyothergirl415
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike called the hotline looking for help. What he found was Misha instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Heartbreak Hotline

**Author's Note:**

> 30 NaNo Shots 2010 - Prompt: call

Honestly, in the beginning, Mike had called the aptly named _Heartbreak Hotline_ because that was exactly what had happened. After two horrible, gut wrenching, painful weeks of mourning the loss of his three year relationship to the glorious Tom, Mike had finally felt he needed to talk to someone outside the picture because he couldn’t handle his friends saying _it’s okay, you’re better without him_ once more.

When the ringing stopped and the line was answered, Mike was just a little thrown off.

“Hello! This is Misha. I’m here to listen to your words of woe and make you smile once more.”

Mike had expected someone a lot more somber, honestly, and back then he had absolutely no idea how addicted he would get to that voice. It happened pretty damn fast though. That first time it had taken nearly an hour to detail the downfall of their relationship, choking on words through tears and struggling not to fall apart. Misha was sympathetic despite his odd intro, filling in with _hmms_ and _go ons_ whenever he felt Mike needed the encouragement.

At the end of that first call Misha had told Mike that it would hurt for a while, that he might feel like it would never get better, but that one day he’d be better, and he might not realize that it was happening, that it simply would. Mike had hung up feeling more down then he had before, and he’d sworn he was never calling the line again.

Two days later, he was back on the phone, telling Misha all about running into Tom in the grocery store with _someone else_.This time Misha didn’t offer cheerful advice. He scoffed and growled and when Mike had finished his story he said, “that douche.”

Mike was halfway through listing a million of Tom’s good qualities before he realized Misha had led him on. “You wanted me to do that didn’t you?”

There was another soft hum before Misha agreed aloud. “Part of getting over someone, Mike, is to accept that they’re still amazing, even without you. You don’t want to be one of those bitter ex’s that can’t even think about the person without feeling sick do you?”

It made so much sense; Mike couldn’t help laughing with surprise. He’d said something along the lines of _what are you, a help line?_ And of course Misha informed him that yes, he was, and Mike wasn’t sure why he’d forgotten that fact.

A week past before Mike called again, this time because he realized a file of important documents were at Tom's house and he had no idea how to get them back. Misha told him that doing something like sending someone else to pick them up would give Tom the upper hand – let him know how he’d affected Mike so badly with the break up – and he refused to even make the call for Mike.

He did, however, stay on the line while Mike conference Tom. And he consoled him in soft soothing murmurs after the man Tom had so quickly moved on to answered the phone breathless. In the end Tom was nice enough to offer mailing Mike the documents and Mike wasn’t stupid enough to pass up on the offer.

Part of Mike thought he was getting better. Therefore making calls three or so times a week to the hotline – and asking for Misha if the man didn’t answer – was probably not a wise thing. Maybe he was just getting himself in the same position all over again. Maybe he was using Misha as a rebound. Maybe after almost four months of talking Mike shouldn’t be heartbroken anymore and he was a little terrified that Misha would tell him to stop calling. After all, it wasn’t like Mike was paying to talk to him.

So, he did something stupid. Which was namely going to a bar, hooking up with some bulky looking guy that was _really_ not Mike’s taste, and waking up the next morning hung over without the foggiest idea how he got home. It was all a little too _Hangover_ for Mike’s usual style but his chest was kind of aching again and so, he had another excuse to call.

After he showered and downed an entire pot of coffee of course.

“Good morning this is Misha and I’m here to turn your frown, upside down.”

Even with the lingering headache – but definite lack of other bodily aches which suggested he wasn’t stupid enough to let the random stranger fuck him – Mike smiled at the voice and the greeting. “Do you practice those greetings?”

Misha chuckled softly and whenever he made that noise Mike liked to imagine that his smile was soft and fond. Maybe he was shaking his head, running a hand through his hair, relaxing back on the chair. It was hard to say for sure but it was brilliant he was positive. “Mike, I should have known you’d be calling me this morning.”

“Was your Spidey sense tingling?” Mike teased and he really loved the banter between them – and tried not to squirm when he used the word _love_ in reference to Misha.

“No, my Michael sense. What’s up?” Misha never asked him to talk about anything specific – which worked well in this situation because honestly, Mike couldn’t focus too well while trying to process the idea of Misha having a special sense just for him.

Figure of speech or not, Mike’s mind was spinning a little. “I drank too much last night. Also I might have hooked up with someone. We didn’t have sex, but I do remember kissing. He didn’t stay the night or anything, thankfully, cause whoa awkward.”

“Mike?” Misha didn’t sound like he normally did – which was happy and silly and always supportive – and Mike frowned. “Why do you keep calling here?”

Truthfully, Mike hadn't anticipated being called on the truth today. Especially because he had a mildly legit reason for calling. “I need someone to talk to?”

“And you don’t have friends? Or people you actually know that you can talk to about these things?” There was the possibility Mike could be offended by Misha’s implication, but he said it in just the right way, that Mike knew he wasn’t being judgmental, he was just curious.

Understandably so, really. Misha probably thought Mike was some crazy loon who worked full time then came home and called random hotlines just so he wouldn’t be lonely. “I have friends,” he defended - sounding rather pitiful – and sighed. “Good friends. A fair few of them even. I just… like talking to you. About these things.”

“What things? You getting drunk and hooking up with some guy?”

Mike had never heard Misha use that tone of voice before, the edge of snark, a harsh bite, and it took him a long minute to put two and two together. “Oh my god, you’re jealous.”

Silence filled the line, long enough to have Mike gearing up to back pedal, but then Misha sighed and Mike could once more imagine him pushing a hand up through his hair. “That would be foolish. It suggests I have feelings for you.”

Mike could contemplate Misha’s tone on this subject for hours and be no closer to defining it. It disappointed him because he was really starting to think he knew Misha’s voice better than his own. “So having feelings for me is foolish? Because you heard me fall apart so many times?”

“No,” Misha chuckled softly and even though Mike’s heart was beginning to ache, this soothed it. “I mean, yes, because of that, but not because you did fall apart. More because I know you’re the type of man who would.”

Only Misha’s logic could be this vague and cut clear at the same time. Mike slumped back on his couch and swallowed thickly, tugging at his shirt nervously. “Meet me.”

More silence and this time Mike didn’t try to analyze it, save his own sanity. “I’m not really certain that’s allowed.”

“You’re not allowed to meet people? What, they keep you chained to your desk at the Heartbreak Hotline?” Mike pursed his lips to keep from smiling just in case Misha could hear it in his words but lost the battle when Misha laughed.

“There might be procedures and things, rules. I break them all the time but if it would cost me my job… I don’t know. I really like this job.” Misha’s laughter trailed off into a sigh.

Mike didn’t want Misha to lose his job either, no matter how much he wanted to meet the man, so he dipped his head in a nod. “Alright. Maybe you can look into it, if you want to meet me anyway. I guess I should go.”

“Are you going to call again?” Misha asked in a quiet whisper and Mike’s heart jumped because the man sounded a little desperate.

“Possibly.” Mike whispered back – which was a _yes_ but he just wasn’t strong enough to say it.

Then he hung up because Misha could say more and he pushed off his couch to head back to bed. No reason to be up at all on a rather pointless Saturday morning. And Mike was sort of beginning to wonder who he called if his potential source for heartbreak was somebody working at the Heartbreak Hotline.

Still, four days later, Mike was rapidly losing his battle not to call Misha once more. And this time there was no way to lie, no excuse for his call except that he desperately wanted to hear Misha’s voice in his ear.

“Hello, this is Misha, how may I help you?”

Mike blinked, confused, and slowly sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“Mike?” Misha exhaled the name in a way that made Mike’s cheeks flush. “I thought you’d never call back.”

“I thought you knew I might be a little addicted to you,” Mike murmured and closed his eyes, smiling at the way his heart raced thinking about Misha needing him, praying he’d call. “Meet me.”

“Mike…” Misha whispered and Mike could almost imagine the way he looked nervously over his shoulder though he couldn’t imagine the way the man looked at all.

“What if I stop calling? If I say I’m all better. Will you meet me?” Mike didn’t want to be so desperate but he was and hiding it was pointless. “Please Misha. I think it could be worth it.”

"Where?" Misha caved after several long and torturous minutes.

Mike grinned and stood. "Dog House coffee on Tenth, you know it?"

Laughing softly once more, Misha was definitely sounding a little giddy now and that had to be a good sign. "Yeah, I live right by there. When?"

Later Mike would tell Misha that he lived by there too. Now though, his eyes slid to the clock. "Is now too soon?"

"A little," Misha said through a laugh. "But I could make four thirty."

An hour and a half? He could wait that long. Possibly.

Of course ninety minutes gave him amble time to consider all the logistics of their meeting. What if Misha saw him and thought he was ugly? What if Misha wasn’t Mike’s type? What if their ability to talk and click vanished when they were face to face?

Then it was time and Mike was sitting in the back booth he’d said he’d be in, wearing the red shirt he’d jokingly warned Misha about. It was going on four thirty five and Mike was considering how awful he’d feel if he bailed.

But then…

Misha dropped onto the bench across from him, curly dark hair and bright blue eyes, Mike’s heart skipped a painful beat. “I think I would have known it was you even without the red shirt.”

Mike gripped his coffee and grinned, dipping his head in a nod. “I might have known it was you too. Truth?”

“Always,” Misha’s smile was as beautiful as Mike had pictured.

“I might be falling for you.”


End file.
